“Don’t worry,” Cesare said in response to her silent question. “You do unholy things to me. It won’t be long until I’m ready again.”
“How long?” Lena asked, heeding his hands, which pulled her up to lie snug against his side. Her thigh crooked over both of his in a gesture that struck him as sweetly intimate, a lover’s pose.
“That depends,” Cesare said, chuckling. “What naughty ideas are hidden in that beautiful mind of yours?”
If she blushed any redder or hotter her face would turn to cinders. Cesare stroked her hair fondly, settling the knots that had formed from her writhing against the pillows. He plucked a single lost flower from her unraveled braids and teased it along the tip of her nose.
“I can hardly think,” Lena said. “My head has turned to mush.”
“Happy mush?”
“Oh yes,” she breathed, gazing up at him with gleaming eyes. Cesare hugged her little form to his body, unable to suppress the desire to slip one arm around her and cup a bee-stung breast. “Can… we do more of this tomorrow?”
“I’m afraid you have no choice in the matter,” Cesare replied simply. “You won’t be allowed to leave this bed until we are both satisfied, and I suspect that will take more than just one splendid night.”
“We will have to eat eventually,” she pointed out smilingly.
“Eventually, si, but not yet.”
His words, it seemed, fell on deaf ears, or the ears of a woman who had found an engrossing distraction. Cesare hummed quietly with contentment, a sound so low and pleasurable it might have come from a happily scratched cat. Lena brushed her fingertips idly through the thick, coarse hairs of his chest, tracing the scars that cut pale lines here and there, her touch running in circles and then down, following the dark, sprinkled trail of hairs to the dunes of his stomach and lower. Pale, slender fingers tangled in the ebony thicket of curls above his groin, her intent apparently nothing but pure curiosity.
“This must be what a painting feels like,” Cesare purred, “under the critical eye of its artist.”
Lena smiled crookedly, nuzzling into his shoulder. “I did not create you. And besides, paintings do not have feelings.”
“I should like to learn to paint,” he said, squeezing her breast playfully in his palm. “Then I could immortalize you, like this, forever.”
“Me? Like this? You couldn’t display it anywhere! It would be indecent…”
The laugh that rumbled through his chest seemed to please her as she snuggled closer. He circled her budding nipple with his thumb, lazily thrumming her until she began to squirm against him, a growing wetness evident where her sex lay snug against his thigh.
“I would not share it,” Cesare said lightly. “But it would look fetching, yes? Over our bed perhaps, or in a private study…”
“We’ve no study here.”
“No,” he agreed, his throat constricting with unwelcome nerves as he added, “but we might. Someday.”
Lena looked up at him, her attention drawn away from the motion of her hand. For a moment, Cesare was convinced the mounting tension in the air portended a cold rebuttal. It was too soon to suggest such things… Idiota… Talking of leaving, of making something together when he hadn’t even completed the act of love with her…
“I still wouldn’t allow you to hang it up,” Lena said finally.
He tried desperately not to show his relief. “But… you would let me paint you?”
“I didn’t say that…” Lena looked back down at his groin, gently caressing the base of his shaft. Cesare sucked down a gasp, a heady twitch resonating beneath her touch.
In Name Alone 83/?
“How long?” Lena asked, heeding his hands, which pulled her up to lie snug against his side. Her thigh crooked over both of his in a gesture that struck him as sweetly intimate, a lover’s pose.
“That depends,” Cesare said, chuckling. “What naughty ideas are hidden in that beautiful mind of yours?”
If she blushed any redder or hotter her face would turn to cinders. Cesare stroked her hair fondly, settling the knots that had formed from her writhing against the pillows. He plucked a single lost flower from her unraveled braids and teased it along the tip of her nose.
“I can hardly think,” Lena said. “My head has turned to mush.”
“Happy mush?”
“Oh yes,” she breathed, gazing up at him with gleaming eyes. Cesare hugged her little form to his body, unable to suppress the desire to slip one arm around her and cup a bee-stung breast. “Can… we do more of this tomorrow?”
“I’m afraid you have no choice in the matter,” Cesare replied simply. “You won’t be allowed to leave this bed until we are both satisfied, and I suspect that will take more than just one splendid night.”
“We will have to eat eventually,” she pointed out smilingly.
“Eventually, si, but not yet.”
His words, it seemed, fell on deaf ears, or the ears of a woman who had found an engrossing distraction. Cesare hummed quietly with contentment, a sound so low and pleasurable it might have come from a happily scratched cat. Lena brushed her fingertips idly through the thick, coarse hairs of his chest, tracing the scars that cut pale lines here and there, her touch running in circles and then down, following the dark, sprinkled trail of hairs to the dunes of his stomach and lower. Pale, slender fingers tangled in the ebony thicket of curls above his groin, her intent apparently nothing but pure curiosity.
“This must be what a painting feels like,” Cesare purred, “under the critical eye of its artist.”
Lena smiled crookedly, nuzzling into his shoulder. “I did not create you. And besides, paintings do not have feelings.”
“I should like to learn to paint,” he said, squeezing her breast playfully in his palm. “Then I could immortalize you, like this, forever.”
“Me? Like this? You couldn’t display it anywhere! It would be indecent…”
The laugh that rumbled through his chest seemed to please her as she snuggled closer. He circled her budding nipple with his thumb, lazily thrumming her until she began to squirm against him, a growing wetness evident where her sex lay snug against his thigh.
“I would not share it,” Cesare said lightly. “But it would look fetching, yes? Over our bed perhaps, or in a private study…”
“We’ve no study here.”
“No,” he agreed, his throat constricting with unwelcome nerves as he added, “but we might. Someday.”
Lena looked up at him, her attention drawn away from the motion of her hand. For a moment, Cesare was convinced the mounting tension in the air portended a cold rebuttal. It was too soon to suggest such things… Idiota… Talking of leaving, of making something together when he hadn’t even completed the act of love with her…
“I still wouldn’t allow you to hang it up,” Lena said finally.
He tried desperately not to show his relief. “But… you would let me paint you?”
“I didn’t say that…” Lena looked back down at his groin, gently caressing the base of his shaft. Cesare sucked down a gasp, a heady twitch resonating beneath her touch.